A Little Too Late
by flyingsoloflyingfree
Summary: She stared at the bullpen for the last time, and the doors slid shut in front of her. She felt the elevator descend to the parking garage, but somehow, her stomach was left three floors up. Tag to 5.18 and 5.19, "Judgement Day" parts one and two.
1. Black Dress

_**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of the characters. I am, sadly, not that brilliant.**_  
><em><strong>Story is rated T for adult themes and a later chapter will be M, but said chapter can also be skipped over and nothing will be lost. There will be warnings before, I promise. <strong>_  
><em><strong>Tags to 5.18 and 5.19, "Judgement Day" parts one and two.<strong>_

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><p>Ziva glanced at the clock as she placed the last of her belongings into boxes. It was almost midnight. No one was left in the bullpen. Ziva was still in the black dress she'd worn for the director's funeral, the dress she'd been wearing when Vance dismantled the team that she loved so dearly.<p>

It had been a long day. She hadn't known it was possible for so much drastic and heart-wrenching change to occur in such a small time span. She swallowed a lump in her throat and hoisted the final box under her arm.

She opened the drawers of her now-empty desk, to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. To her surprise, she heard a rattle as she pulled the bottom drawer open. She reached her hand down to the back of the metal drawer and pulled out Tony's infamous Mighty Mouse stapler. She stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or cry. She'd stolen it off his desk a week ago, before they'd left for their mission with the director, to see if he'd notice. He hadn't.

She held the stapler in the palm of her hand, deciding what to do, as she took slow steps toward the elevator. The weight of grief was making it difficult for her to think rationally about what would be best for her state of mind, about what would make it easier to leave.

Ziva had never been one for goodbyes.

She could have mailed Tony his stapler, and written a brief note to say farewell, have a nice life. The elevator doors glided open and she stepped in. She stared at the bullpen for the last time, and as the doors slid shut in front of her, she dropped the stapler into her box. She felt the elevator descend to the parking garage, but somehow, her stomach was left three floors up.

xXxXx

Ziva stood at Tony's apartment door, his stapler in one hand, the other poised to knock. She stopped short as her rational thinking came flooding back. What was she doing here? Why was she putting herself through so much more, when the day had been difficult enough?

_I am here to say goodbye to my partner, to a man who has been part of my everyday life for every day I have spent here in America_, she answered herself firmly, and her knuckles rapped on the wood three times.

There was a long moment when Ziva heard nothing, and she began to think that perhaps Tony had fallen asleep. She wouldn't blame him, she thought, her eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. Then, she heard the deadbolt on the door, and it creaked open to reveal an extremely intoxicated Tony. There were bags under his eyes, and Ziva could have sworn she saw several more wrinkles on his face. He looked aged and, simply put, worn out.

"Ziva!" Tony exclaimed loudly. "How kind of you to show up! Please, come in!" he proposed, then as an afterthought, he held out the bottle of Smirnoff that he was clutching. "Vodka?" he slurred, thinking he was being kind in his offer.

Had the situation been any different, Ziva would have been either very cross with her partner for his poor decision-making, or _very_ amused. Drunk Tony was the caricatured version of the immature prankster that he sometimes allowed to seep through his professional side at work. Of course she'd seen Tony drunk before, but it was always in an instance where the objective was to have fun, not to drown his sorrows. And the situation being what it was, Ziva was neither cross nor amused. She was simply worried, and tired. Very tired.

Tony awaited her reaction, and when she was silent, he furrowed his brow, as though concentrating on something difficult to grasp.

"Why are you here?" he asked her, swaying slightly and leaning against the doorframe for support. Ziva held up the Mighty Mouse stapler. Tony's eyes lit up like a small child on Christmas morning.

"I was looking for that eeeeverywhere!" he cried, reaching out to grab the stapler and instead staggering forward. Ziva took a step towards him and braced her body weight against his, steadying him. "Hey thanks," he said lazily. Ziva, still silent, slid her arm around Tony's waist, holding tightly, and helped him stumble into his apartment.

She led him to the couch, where he collapsed in a heap. She snatched the bottle of Smirnoff from his hand and searched for the cap. "I wasn't done with that yet!" Tony protested loudly. Ziva located the cap on top of a stack of DVDs. Of course. "Oh, yes you are," she said under her breath.

Tony sunk back into the cushions, and his eyes began to droop. Ziva walked into his kitchen and put the alcohol into the back of his liquor cabinet, where he would hopefully be too drunk to find it.

"Zee-vah!" Tony called from the couch, finding amusement with his exaggerated pronunciation of her name. She sighed, marched back to the couch, and glared down at her inebriated partner.

"Yes, Tony?" she said, raising her eyebrows. Tony smiled his most charming smile up at her.

"Will you stay and watch a movie with me? You still haven't seen Forest Gump, right? And it's been an aaawfully long time since you and I had a movie night," he drawled, then paused, squinting. "Why _has_ it been such a long time?" he asked, suddenly bewildered. Ziva snorted.

"Tony, we watched a movie on the plane home," she reminded him. He mulled this over, and then, without responding, his head fell back against the cushions of the couch, and his eyes began to close.

She looked at Tony, slumped against his couch, his breath reeking of liquor. His green-grey eyes were glassed over, and she saw a hint of sadness in them that was mostly drowned by the excessive alcohol he'd consumed. Still, the glimpse of emotion she saw there tugged at her already-aching heart.

"No, I have not seen Forest Gump," she informed him simply. Ziva located the DVD on his table, where dozens of movies were haphazardly strewn. As the opening credits began, she settled down on the couch beside him, and he contentedly snuggled into a pillow, stretching out a little more. She suppressed a smile.

Within thirty minutes, like clockwork, the two agents were fast asleep, Ziva in her beautiful black dress on one end of the couch, her head resting lightly against a pillow, and Tony sprawled out on the other, their toes just barely touching.

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><p><strong><em>AN: You guys know why I picked Forest Gump? <em>**


	2. Tightrope

**_Disclaimer- Nope, still don't own anything. Darn._**  
><strong><em>Also, there's some strong language in this chapter. <em>**

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><p>Ziva woke up when the couch cushions suddenly shifted as Tony made a beeline for the bathroom. She rested her head against the pillow, momentarily confused about her location. Then she inhaled and the combination of the scent of Tony's cologne and the heavy scent of vodka reminded her of what had occurred.<p>

She closed her eyes and was just about to drift off again when she heard Tony gagging, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

Ziva sprang into action. She located a bottle of water from Tony's refrigerator, and then grabbed several paper towels and ran them under cold water from the kitchen faucet. She rushed into the bathroom and knelt on the tile floor beside him.

At first, she was unsure of what to do and sat on her knees beside him while he retched. Then, her overwhelming desire to touch him, to comfort for him (and maybe comfort herself too), became too strong to ignore. She began to rub his back in smooth circles while his sides heaved. When he was finished, he spat into the toilet bowl and flushed, but kept his face down. His hands remained on either side of the toilet seat. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"How long have you been here?" he quietly asked Ziva, who was still rubbing his back. She knew he was ashamed, but chose to ignore his embarrassment. She hooked her finger under Tony's chin, turning his face toward her, and gazed into his clouded grey-green eyes for a moment before she lifted the wet paper towels to his face. She brushed them gently along his forehead and both cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut in a mixture of abashment and gratitude.

"Since about midnight," she told him. "I stole your Might Mouse stapler from your desk about a week ago, and I found it as I was packing up my things. I thought you might want it." She continued to wipe his brow.

He managed a weak smile. "I knew I was missing something," he said, trying to make his voice sound humorous but only managing to sound exhausted. Ziva threw the paper towels in the wastebasket beside her, then opened the water bottle and handed it to Tony. "Drink. Small sips only," she commanded, and he obliged.

There was a moment of quiet as Tony swallowed down the water, wincing at the foul taste in his mouth. Ever so slightly, Ziva cocked her head, and her stare notified him that she was thinking, hard. He didn't ask why, though—he was too emotionally drained to play that game with her. He drank his water and waited for her to speak what was on her mind, and eventually, she did.

"Why did you drink so much, Tony?" she asked her partner.

Tony wiped his mouth and stared at a spot on the wall behind her. She could hear his thoughts as they relentlessly rushed forward in an effort to be heard, but he swallowed them all back down.

Then, without warning, something inside him snapped.

"This is my fucking fault. If not for me, Jenny wouldn't be—"

He stopped short, cutting himself off with a shiver. Then he continued, his volume continuing to climb.

"I'm so damn stupid. The team would still be together if I'd just followed orders!"

"You did follow orders, Tony," Ziva asserted quietly but firmly. His eyes landed on her face, and she saw that they were ablaze. She'd hit a nerve somehow.

"God, Ziva, don't you ever feel fear?" he shouted.

Ziva's eyes narrowed, not glaring but analyzing. He returned her stare, searching her face, searching for anything that may suggest that she was hurting or bruised, or afraid. She straightened her back and made direct eye contact with Tony, and he could see her walls erecting—her fortress was ready, her guard was up.

"I feel fear when I think of leaving America, leaving this place that I have come to consider to be my…"

She trailed off, searching for the right word, and that made him irritated, so much that he lost it. He grabbed her shoulders and shook.

"Can you just quit it?" he yelled, and he felt her flinch ever so slightly under his touch.

Had Tony been any other man but her partner, she would have ripped his eyes from their sockets in a matter of seconds. But this was Tony. She was so in shock that she didn't respond. Her skin itched under his feverish hands. He continued, shrieking, his voice almost shrill.

"Why can't you just say it? Huh? This is your _home._ We are your _family._ Mossad may not like that, your father may not like that, but it's the Goddamned truth, Ziva."

Before the sound of his own voice had even stopped ringing in his ears, the heel of Ziva's palm came into contact with his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him backwards, fast. His arms flew behind him and his elbows slammed against the tile floor with a sickening _whack_. He grimaced but made no sound, watching only Ziva. She knelt over him, her lips in a thin line, every muscle in her face hardened and contorted with anger and grief and stress. Still, Tony did not back down.

"This is your home, Ziva," he reasserted almost inaudibly.

"Was," she corrected him, her tone razor sharp. "This _was_ my home. Now, it is another part of my past. It is another aspect of my life that I wanted to stay the same, but did not." She took a shaky breath, averted her eyes from Tony's face, and sat back. "It could not," she murmured, almost to herself.

Tony watched as the defenses she'd built around herself came crumbling down. He pushed himself up so that he was sitting. Although Ziva did not cry, her eyes swam. She angrily blinked back the tears and refused to let them spill over.

Without pausing to think about his actions or their potential consequences, Tony reached out to her and placed his hand over hers, tentatively.

Her breath caught in her throat for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure, but Tony had seen it, he'd seen her instinctive reaction to his touch.

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," he quoted softly, his eyes resting on her face. In spite of herself, Ziva snorted. "A movie quote, Tony? Really?" she asked, but he could tell she was taking in what he'd just said. He half smiled to himself. "No, actually, that's Doctor Seuss," he informed her, knowing it wouldn't make a difference.

Her eyes flitted about, following the lines of the tile on the floor. Her gaze landed on their hands, his resting gently on top of hers. Slowly, deliberately, she turned her hand over so her palm faced the ceiling. He stared at her, desperately trying to read her, to decipher what it was that she wanted, before he responded and laced his fingers through hers. They sat in silence, holding hands tightly.

She could sense that they were on a tightrope, teetering precariously toward each other, their feet moving with utmost caution and concentrating on not plummeting below. But would they meet in the middle? Or would one of them turn around and retreat back to the security of the platform they'd known for years?

Finally, Ziva broke the heavy silence. "I am very afraid, Tony," she said, her voice sounding broken and distant, and she finally met his gaze. Looking into the shadows of her dark eyes, he could see so many things—fear, pain, uncertainty, a hint of confusion.

He squeezed her hand. "So am I," he admitted, unashamed.

Her eyes searched his, looking for something to indicate if he was going to continue to take steps toward her on the thin wire, if he would meet her in the middle, or if he would retreat. Or worse, lose his balance and fall.

With the hand that was not holding hers, Tony slowly reached up to Ziva's face and gingerly stroked her cheek with the back of his pointer finger. Her eyes were fixed on his, her breath ragged. Her pulse was roaring in her ears. She tried to remember when all of these boundaries had been crossed and failed.

He leaned in to close the distance between them and she closed her eyes tightly, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. Her voice was hoarse when she whispered only, "Rule number twelve."

Tony's eyes became sad and passionate and slightly desperate in a single moment. He pressed his palm to her cheek, an indication for her to look at him. When she did, her gaze screamed with despair and so much longing that it broke his heart. She wasn't pushing him away because she didn't want him—she was pushing him away because it was all she knew how to do. But the desire was very much present.

She turned her face into his palm and he felt his skin tighten with the simple gesture. "Ziva," he said, his voice shaking, "we aren't partners anymore."

A wave of emotion rolled through her body as his statement registered, and she shuddered with the realization of his words. Then, her hand that was still resting on his chest curled around his tee shirt, clenching the fabric in her fist, and she pulled gently. She was so close that he could feel her breath dancing across his skin, making his heart do funny things in his chest. She took the final step toward him on the tightrope, closing the distance between them, her lips meeting his.

She kissed him slowly, but with more passion than he'd ever experienced. He allowed for the hand he'd pressed to her face to move back, getting tangled in her soft brown curls. His tongue found its way past her lips and he tasted all of the words that she wanted to say, but could not formulate; all of the words that should have been said before now.

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><p><strong><em>AN- Next chapter will be the smutty one, but it won't be overtly descriptive. You can skip it and still be okay. As always, reviews are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading!_**


	3. Thunder & Lightning

**A/N- I said I'd warn you, so...**

**Warning: This is the smut chapter (although in my opinion, it really isn't that explicit, but hey, that's just me). If you don't want to read it, skip it and when the next chapter comes out, you can read it and understand what's going on without a problem. **

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><p>How many times did Tony visualize this happening, only to blink and shake his head and tell himself it was only a fantasy? How many times did he suppress the urge to reach over and tousle her hair and smell her shampoo—to lean in and just taste her? And now, suddenly, she was <em>real<em>.

She was the reason his head was spinning. Those were her soft lips on his, those were her strong hands on his neck. She was everywhere all at once, a palpable being in his arms and pressed against his body.

When things began to get heated on his bathroom floor, Tony pulled back from the kiss just enough to look into Ziva's smoldering eyes, asking her a question that his mouth could not articulate. She read his question, like she always did, and did not hesitate before responding.

She ran her fingers down his arm, her gentle touch making his skin erupt in gooseflesh, and intertwined her fingers with his. Holding his hand, she tugged him up from the bathroom floor and slowly led him to his bedroom. She stopped in front of his bed and turned to face him, their bodies touching from head to toe.

He let go of her hand to run his hands up and down the length of her back, drawing her even closer. He located the zipper on her dress and pulled it down slowly, his eyes not once straying from her face. The sleek black cloth slid from her skin and fell to the floor at their feet. Tony felt his breath hitch in his windpipe. She was flawless.

They undressed each other like the act in itself was holy, precious. Whenever she removed an article of clothing from his body, she kissed the newly exposed skin that she found. It was all he could do to keep his knees from caving in underneath him.

When he was so deliciously weak that he didn't think he could stand anymore, she slid onto his mattress, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her. Her luscious thick curls spread under her, fanning out around her head, and she gazed up at him from underneath a dark fringe of lashes.

Why the hell hadn't this happened sooner? Why did it take losing her for him to realize precisely how much she meant to him?

Ziva's thoughts mimicked Tony's exactly, and she brought his mouth down on hers with a small gasp. Their tongues warred, and she ground herself into him, suddenly desperate to be as close to him as possible. He reciprocated her action and desires, pushing himself down on her, wanting to feel all of her smooth skin against his own.

When his lungs threatened to explode from lack of oxygen, Tony broke the kiss for the sole purpose of catching his breath. He moved to her neck, running his tongue over her wildly hammering pulse, drawing a shudder from her. She tangled her fingers into his hair. He moved back up, planting kisses along her jawline, then placing his hands on either side of her face and looking deeply into her eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, stroking her cheek. "We've got all night. There's no need to rush."

She hid her face from him by looking down, her hair falling forward in a dark curtain that shielded her expression. She was fighting an internal battle. She lifted her head pressed her forehead to his, and she had difficulty breathing for all the wrong reasons.

He held her even closer to his body, feeling guilty for bringing this on, whatever it was. When she finally met his eyes, he knew she'd lost whatever battle she had been fighting.

"It is not enough time, Tony," she told him, sounding utterly defeated.

Tony wanted to protest, to convince her otherwise and swear that, like always, everything would be alright, but this time, he faltered. He was unable to deny her simple statement, unable to persuade her or even himself that things would be okay this time. He couldn't bring himself to say the words that he so desperately wanted to say—words of comfort, words of reassurance.

So instead, he settled for kissing her gently, a silent response that they both understood as clearly as if it were lightning projected across the sky.

Nonetheless, they saw the logic in Tony's statement as well. They still had several hours before the sun rose and their lives changed permanently, and they decided not to take a minute for granted.

They took their time, savoring each moment that they had. Tony learned every inch of Ziva's body, committing all of her to memory. He kissed and caressed her until she trembled from his touch. He refused to let her go, not even for a second, because it would be a second that they couldn't recover. When they could hold off no longer, they joined together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle.

The slow rhythm of their bodies starkly contrasted the frenzied rhythm of their hearts. Nothing was said—nothing needed to be. There weren't words to describe the aching in their chests; the way they felt so alive and so dead inside at the same time couldn't be described, not in any language. It was a pure joy and complete sorrow, wrapped into one night.

Tony clung to Ziva as they both simultaneously unraveled in each other's arms, falling over the edge. Ziva bit down on her kiss-bruised lip and wrapped herself around him, enveloping him in a layer of security that he didn't even know was possible. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and drank in her scent and the texture of her olive skin against his lips.

It was a high that could never be replicated, a feeling that could never happen again; not because it could not, but because the opportunity wouldn't ever present itself again.

She trailed her fingertips across his cheekbones, memorizing the feeling of his stubble against the fleshy pads of her fingers. The action made him shiver, in spite of his elevated temperature.

She felt his tremor and she responded by pressing her palm to his cheek firmly and looking into his eyes, telling him silently _I am here. This is real. _

He kissed her mouth chastely and willed himself to believe her.

When he was no longer struggling for breath or shaking quite so much, he moved, but only enough not to smother her. He laid his head on her chest, moving his thigh between her legs, and one hand absently twisted her curls. Her fingers wove into his hair, keeping him exactly where he was and pulling him close to her. She inhaled the musky scent of his sweat, cologne, and the faint trace of liquor, and hoped that it would stay in her sheets for a long time to come.

Tony was lulled into a peaceful slumber by the steady pounding of Ziva's heart against his ear, and she followed soon after.


	4. Train

******Disclaimer- all characters are not mine, blah blah. You know. ******

****This is the last chapter. I could follow up with it, for when the team gets back together four months later, but I don't think I want to. It's angsty this way, but in a bittersweet way. And we all know they do see each other again, anyway. ****

**Sorry this has taken me so long. I've been away from home, which always makes things difficult. I think I've written and rewritten it at least a dozen times. But thank you for your patience and support, it means a lot to me :)**

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><p>Even in the muddled state between slumber and alertness, Ziva knew that she didn't want to wake up. Waking up meant facing the day, and facing the day was something that she didn't think she had the strength to do. Last night's events would make it an impossible feat, one she currently lacked the courage to even attempt.<p>

But remaining in bed would only delay the inevitable, not prevent it.

She heard a clatter from the kitchen, and she guessed Tony dropped a pot on the floor. Her assumption was confirmed when she heard an array of colorful curse words a moment later. In a huff, he stomped through the doorway, and stopped short when he saw that Ziva was awake and staring at him.

There was silence for a moment as both tried to figure out what to do, what to say. It was not the kind of quiet that caused squirming or discomfort; rather, it was the kind of hush that occurred when two people tried to wrap their heads around what was happening.

His body language indicated that he was tense, anxious and unsettled, and she felt precisely the same. She wanted time to freeze, so she could spend hours, days, weeks even, learning everything about him she'd never taken the time to know. The thought of packing all of her belongings—or worse, helping him pack all of his—sent a shiver down her spine. It was all too much.

He saw it immediately, of course, and without being conscious of his actions, he took a step toward the bed. He stopped and hesitated, waiting for her reaction. It was all so new, and he was afraid of what she would do.

Her eyes softened. His face was a look of desperation, and it reminded her of a child lost in a mall, afraid and isolated. She reached a hand out an invitation, and he didn't even try to hide the relief on his face.

He climbed under the covers, into their fortress that would only hold for so long, and he pulled her close to his body. His arms circled protectively around her waist. She, in turn, melted into his embrace with a contented sigh. He planted kisses on her shoulder, and she nestled her nose into the crook of his neck.

She took a breath, about to speak, and he raised his head and pushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "I know that soon, you will be boarding USS Ronald Regan. And I know," she swallowed, "that I will be on a flight back to Tel Aviv only hours later."

His breath rushed out. She tried to collect her thoughts, to finish the statement she'd been trying to make, but suddenly, the words seemed unbearably heavy in her mouth. Tony interrupted her thoughts.

He pulled her face up so that their eyes met, and he assured her firmly, "Ziva, this is not goodbye."

She placed her hands on his chest and searched his face, pressing her body against his even more. She knew the closeness now wouldn't compensate for the unbearable distance later, but there was no harm in trying.

"Why did we not do this sooner, Tony?" she muttered quietly, bitterly, as if asking herself as much as she was asking him. Her eyes avoided his as she chewed on the inside of her cheek in frustration. He cocked his head and stared at her, unsure whether or not her question was rhetorical. But the anger set on her face tortured him, and he needed to allay her pain.

He placed a kiss lightly on her temple, then on her forehead, and he looked deeply into her eyes, colored with the hues of loss and paralyzing fear. It wrenched his heart.

"Because we're stubborn as hell, Ziva," he said, speaking for both of them, and the tightness in his chest eased slightly when she smiled warily at his statement, unable to deny it. He reached a hand up to cup her face.

"But better one night with you than none at all," he whispered, his voice sounding more husky than he intended it to. And yeah, it was corny as hell, but it was the honest-to-God truth. And it hit him harder than he would have guessed, so he nestled his nose into her hair and swallowed back the tears.

She knew, mostly because she did the same.

xXxXx

Picking which DVDs to bring with him was the third hardest thing he'd ever done.

He managed to get his clothes into two duffel bags, and his other assorted toiletries and necessities (including the Mighty Mouse stapler) into another small suitcase. When he realized he couldn't bring all of his DVDs with him, a sound escaped from his throat that later, Ziva would have sworn was a whimper. He insisted she was hearing things.

He sat, flabbergasted, in front of the large shelf that contained his precious DVD collection, and he looked so distressed that any other day, Ziva would have laughed and teased him mercilessly. Now, she looked on as she packed several non-perishable food items into a small box for him to bring, in case the food on the ship was sub-par.

Finally, he threw his hands up and made a noise akin to a growl. Ziva placed a package of granola bars into the box and sighed, running her fingers through her tangled curls. His anguish was clearly caused by more than simply choosing which DVDs to bring with him.

She approached him from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his bare back.

"I am sure some of the other petty officers have DVDs that you can borrow," she assured him, her words muffled as her lips brushed against his skin. "And there is always the option of buying movies on iTunes," she added thoughtfully. He turned in her arms so that he faced her.

"This is the third most difficult thing I've ever done in my life, Ziva."

The ninja frowned. "Packing up your apartment? I mean, it is messy, but it is not _that_ messy…"

"Deciding which DVDs to bring," he deadpanned, and he was so serious that she chuckled in spite of herself, shaking her head. She brought her hand up to his neck to try to comfort him, then discovered how tight his muscles were. She kneaded at the knots at the base of his neck with her fingertips, to release the tension. His eyes fluttered shut with a groan.

"You will only be gone for several months, Tony," she reminded him softly, her fingers traveling on a path down his neck and to his shoulders. He relaxed under her firm touch.

There was a moment of quiet as she reflected on what he'd said, and her fingers stilled as something occurred to her. He opened his eyes and gazed at her curiously.

"Third hardest?" she inquired, tilting her head. He squinted into the distance, remembering something.

"Second hardest was the first time I killed someone," he said plainly, the memory replaying before his eyes. She watched him remember and she held still, staying silent, waiting to see if he would share the flashback with her.

"Murderer in Baltimore. Danny had killed people before. And I'd shot people in the line of duty, but…" He trailed off. "He pulled a gun on us and fired. And when I saw the police officer next to me go down, with a bullet in his chest, I lost it and fired twice. One bullet to the head."

He came back to the present as she clasped her hands around his neck, and he looked down at the woman in his arms. "Lemme guess," he said, a hint of a smirk on his face, "You were, oh, thirteen the first time you killed someone."

The corner of her mouth turned up at him. "Eleven," she breathed, raising her chin proudly. He shook his head, smiling at her in wonder.

A moment later, her brows knitted together. He tightened his grip around her waist, an indication for her to speak her mind. She met his gaze.

"What is the most difficult thing you have ever done, Tony?" she asked him, and he could tell that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

He smiled a sad smile at her, before checking the time on his wristwatch. Her heart sank.

"It hasn't happened yet, actually," he murmured. "It'll be around five o' clock tonight."

She bit her lip and buried her face in his chest, clinging to him for dear life, as if by holding tightly enough, she could stop him from leaving. As if she could hold him in her embrace forever.

xXxXx

Ziva drove him to the port, so that he didn't have to leave his car there for months and months. They had waited until the last possible moment, so it was the last call for boarding officers when they arrived.

They parked and she helped him by grabbing a couple of his bags and boxes. He managed to fit all of his possessions into two duffel bags, a small suitcase, a backpack containing his paperwork, and a box with food she'd insisted he bring. They each grabbed a duffel bag, and he threw the backpack over his shoulder and wheeled the suitcase along behind him, leaving her to carry the box.

They made their way over to the ship's entrance. A guard was standing there, checking officers in and ensuring they were who they claimed to be. Tony got to the guard and put his bags down.

"Anthony DiNozzo, Agent afloat from the Navel Criminal Investigative Service," he said as he rustled through his bags to locate his paperwork and passport. The guard pulled up a photo on the computer of Tony and, upon seeing his passport and badge, gave a slight nod of approval. But then, he looked at Ziva, and said, "Sorry, miss, but you can't come aboard."

Ziva opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. The guard looked sincerely apologetic. "You can say your goodbyes here," he said, indicating a place a couple feet away from him as he waved the next officer in line forward. "I'll let you through once you're done," he added.

Tony nodded curtly, picked up his duffel bag, and tugged on Ziva's hand. She followed limply.

They stood off to the side of the boardwalk where the officers were loading on various necessities. Everything around them seemed to bustle with life, but it took on a dream-like quality for the two former partners. More than anything, Tony wanted to awaken and discover that the past two weeks of his life had been nothing but a nightmare.

Tony and Ziva dropped Tony's things on the ground at their feet and for a moment, neither said anything—they simply stared at one another. Then, he grabbed her and crushed her to his chest in a tight embrace, and she could feel his heart pounding rapidly through his cotton tee shirt.

She didn't know how much time passed like that, but she didn't mind, not a bit, and finally, he pulled back and met her eyes, his hand coming up to frame her face.

"Thank you. For everything," he said simply, feeling no need to clarify what he was thanking her for.

She was at a loss for words, so she grabbed his shirt and kissed him passionately, and felt tears prick her eyes when he kissed her back with equal intensity. They should have been embarrassed for kissing in public like that, but they weren't. The thought didn't even cross their minds.

She came up to breathe and pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes. They both fought tears. She refused to let herself cry. She'd cried too much in the past forty-eight hours anyway, and she doubted there were tears left. She finally found her voice.

"I will miss you, Tony," she said, her voice barely audible above the din around them. He heard her all the same.

"I'll miss you too, Ziva," he told her quietly, his voice breaking. He lost himself in her dark eyes, and only came back to earth when there was an announcement that it was the last call for boarding officers.

He tenderly kissed her mouth one final time, brushing his hand down her cheek. Then he let go, forced himself to, and gathered all of his belongings in his arms, slinging his duffel bags and his backpack over his shoulder. He carried a box in one hand and the handle of a suitcase in the other.

He turned and placed one foot in front of the other, each step requiring more and more effort, and as the guard waved him through, he ascended up the ramp. When he reached the doorway, he met her eyes and saw so much grief and sadness that, for a moment, he wanted to turn and run; just drop his things and take her hand and run away from everything that had hurt them, from everything that would keep them apart. But he knew it wasn't an option, and that fact alone made his chest ache.

And then the officer behind him gave him a slight shove, perhaps intentional, perhaps not. Tony had no choice but to stagger away, and when he turned his head to look back at her, his vision was too blurred by tears to discern any shapes in the crowd.

She watched him disappear into the ship, and even after he'd gone, she stood there. She couldn't bring herself to move.

It was like waiting at a train station for a train you knew you'd already missed. You weren't waiting for the next one ("_There is no next one"_ she thought, biting her lip); you weren't waiting at all. You just sit and clutch your suitcase because there is nothing else to do.

xXxXx

She drove back to his apartment to lock everything up, like he asked her to. Except she didn't. Instead, she fell into his bed and buried her nose in his pillow. The scent of _them_ was still very much present, and she clutched his pillow to her chest and inhaled deeply until she fell asleep.

xXxXx

When the ship finally left the port, he knew because he felt the blast of the jets underwater as they pulled away from the dock. He was standing in the middle of a stairway, spacing out and gripping the railings as the engine roared to life underneath him.

He thought about trying to settle in, but he had no desire to unpack. That would be a confirmation of reality, which was, at this point, not something he particularly wanted.

Instead, he unzipped the outside pocket of his backpack and pulled out the three photographs of Ziva in her bikini.

She would have throttled him if she knew he'd made prints of them, he thought with a sad smile. He wished he had a picture of the two of them together, rather than her half naked, but they never got around to it. Besides, he couldn't have imagined trying to get a photo with her before the last week. She would probably snap at him for being too close, or having his hand too low on her back. He never thought the day would come when he would miss their bickering.

He stared at the photo that showed most of her body as she lounged reading. Her sunglasses were on top of her head and she looked relaxed. She'd been blissfully unaware of the earth-shattering occurrences that were to come. He would give anything to be back in that moment.

He observed lightly that his hands were trembling, and he was silently willing them not to, when an officer came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Tony turned in surprise and came out of his musings, realizing that he was probably blocking the stairs.

"You're the guy I saw playing tonsil hockey with that hot chick earlier!" he said, giving Tony's shoulder a light squeeze before letting his hand drop to indicate he was only playing around.

Tony motioned for the officer to follow him as he climbed up the last couple of stairs and stepped out of the way. He tried to ignore the constricting in his chest when he remembered saying goodbye to her.

"Yeah, that was me," he confirmed, and he tried to smile at the young officer but it turned out looking more like a grimace.

The officer grabbed at the photos and flipped through them. He whistled.

"She sure is something," he said, his eyes enviously taking in Ziva's barely-covered figure. He handed the prints back to Tony with a look of clear jealousy and awe. "You're a lucky guy," he added.

Tony was about to try to explain to this officer that, no, he wasn't lucky. That she wasn't his wife or his girlfriend. That, after the last twenty-four hours, he had no idea what they were. That he was the reason he was stuck on this damn boat and not with _her_. That it was his fault that the director of the entire organization was killed. That he'd give anything to be working for the boss who slapped him upside the head every time he misbehaved. That he wanted to be back in D.C. with the woman he cared most about in the entire world.

But then, he didn't. Tony gazed down at the pictures and smiled, almost to himself, with the sudden revelation that the officer was right, no matter what.

"Yeah," he said softly, "I am."


End file.
